


Lips Like Sugar

by oneforyourfire



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: 69ing, M/M, Rimming, foodplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 10:25:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7357528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You used to love this when we were younger—used to, used to get off so hard on it," Lu Han insists (marrieds engaging in some kitchen oral au)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lips Like Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> originally written for the 2016 round of luminations

Shaky, but still steadying, Lu Han's hands close around Minseok's hips, squeeze once, twice in appreciation before lifting him bodily onto their marble countertop. Minseok moans, and Lu Han fuses their lips once more to taste it, every subsequent moan that Lu Han’s wandering fingers, entreating lips manage to provoke. 

Lu Han likes it best like this, likes when Minseok has to tilt down to kiss him, reaching, coaxing— _working_ for it. And he likes the strain in his tiptoes, his neck, the way that Minseok seems to loom over him like this, towering and oh so solid and large as he responds to the heavy imploring in Lu Han’s deep, desperate kisses.

Lu Han’s hips crash against the countertop in his attempt to get at even more warm, perfect skin, but the pain barely registers as Minseok’s fingernails drag down his scalp. 

Kiss-drunk and wonderfully pliant, Minseok still somehow manages to groan around the succulent kiss he's pressing to Lu Han's mouth. Something sharp and chiding about Lu Han's hormones and how utterly reckless they make him, how he'd had _ulterior motives_ when he’d urged him into the kitchen at 2 AM. Under the pretense of breakfast food, too.

And Lu Han huffs in indignation even as his hand skates down the front of Minseok's apron, pushing it up and away enough to touch him. Minseok's hip jerk against him once, twice, his fingers biting into Lu Han’s shoulders, deliciously stinging even through the rumpled cotton of Lu Han’s _Monte Carlo Casino_ shirt. The deprecating laugh at his chin turns into a moan, but there's an undercurrent of chastisement in it still, something entirely too reprimanding and rational, considering where Lu Han's hands and mouth are, how shaky and affected Minseok’s breathing is, how hard and grounding his fingers are. 

And oh no, Lu Hans wants him receptive, wants him reckless, wants him ruined. 

His tongue, lips, mouth wander to Minseok’s throat, that special place where shoulder meets neck that _always_ makes Minseok whimper. Lu Han teases at his skin with his teeth, whispers his name all slow and wet, and Minseok predictably, thankfully moans, jerks. “You know it gets you hot, my reckless, reckless Minseokkie.” 

Minseok stiffens but melts into it, shivers into it, moans so so _so_ quietly into it. 

And Lu Han’s tone turns accusatory, as his fingers fan, drag, skate, light and cruel. Even through the rumpled fabric of his boxers, he’s fucking _pulsing_. 

"You used to love this when we were younger—used to, used to get off so hard on it," Lu Han insists against his throat, nipping lightly, licking succulently. Minseok groans around a pant, presses back into his touch with a half-hearted roll of his eyes, a full-hearted roll of his hips. "Used to love my spontaneity," Lu Han continues as he repeats the gesture, glides his fingers even faster, sure to flutter over the head, Minseok's favorite favorite spot. Minseok jerks with a heavier moan. 

And Lu Han moans, too, voice deepening with it when Minseok shudders, moans again—louder, this time, more honest. Closer, closer to the Minseok that Lu Han prefers, the Minseok that wants this just as much, loses himself in this just as much. 

"Used to love how I couldn't keep my hands off you. Even in public." _Especially in public_ , Lu Han remembers with a shudder of his own, muffled kisses and rushed touches and over the clothes orgasms and sticky underwear and the heady adrenaline of danger, fear. 

They've done much worse—much better, Lu Han means to convey. This is hardly the worst—the best they could do, honestly. This is positively _pedestrian_. 

And Minseok had looked so fucking _enticing_ and _delectable_ in that fucking apron, soft bare skin peeking out beneath the faded floral prints—because it was 2 AM, Lu Han, and he wasn't about to put on pants but please keep your hands to yourself. 

It had been Lu Han's craving for pancakes that had brought them to their kitchen at that _unholy hour_ , his craving for something sweeter, softer, more lingering that had ended with them like this. 

Minseok had prepared the mix from scratch, gotten flour on his cheeks, egg yolk on his nose. And Lu Han had just _had_ to kiss it off, kiss lower, kiss more, Minseok responding in kind because for all his scolding words he loves this, it, them, too.

And the pancakes, Lu Han decides, tilting upwards to grind desperately against Minseok’s soft thigh, they probably won't be made.

And that's completely, totally, definitely okay with him as he slides his free hand beneath Minseok’s apron, drags over the taut tension of his stomach. Like this, he can feel every helpless, involuntary shudder, the way the muscles dance beneath his soft, soft skin as he continues to press forward into Lu Han’s other hand. 

Minseok’s probably achingly hard already, fucking pulsing through the thin, soft cotton of his plaid boxers, and Lu Han tries not to smirk, kissing him in order to quiet the self-satisfied remark dancing on the tip of his tongue. 

Minseok, he's so fucking receptive, so fucking affected, sharp and teasing as his remarks may be. Minseok's legs part further, ankles connecting behind Lu Han's ass as he agrees with a begrudging hum that yes, yes when they were teenagers, when they were snot-nosed college kids, when they were reckless and young in love. But Minseok, well he’d thought that they’d moved past the bumbling, eager, easily excited days of their youth, thought they’d settled into real adults. I mean, at least Minseok had, but it looks like Lu Han is still 18 and stuck in that past. 

Lu Han bites his jawline at that, drags his tongue along the sharp contour of it. He abandons his perch on Minseok’s stomach in favor of wrapping his fingers around the nape of his neck, dragging him downward to get a better angle. Words panted and purposefully breathy, intentionally shaky, the way that Minseok likes them most, his other hand dragging even more insistently over Minseok’s cock, Lu Han reminds him of the their college library, that study room in the Humanities building, the storage closet in Chanyeol's graduation party, that night on the balcony of their honeymoon suite, Lu Han pressed tight to the glass, grinding back as he moaned at the heft and drag of Minseok’s cock in his ass, the city lights twinkling before their dazed eyes. The countless adventures they’ve had. Their moments to be treasured, he argues, lips catching as they drag over Minseok’s earlobe. Moments to be _recreated_. 

"But we're not young," Minseok counters, head lolling back, almost connecting with the kitchen shelf. His dark strands whisper over the varnished wood, and his lips part and eyebrows pinch with a moan as Lu Han sucks on his earlobe, digs the heel of his palm and holds it there for three, four beats. Minseok’s legs tremble, and he bites his lips nearly white, swallowing and shuddering around a whimper before continuing. "We're not in college and you aren't playing catch-up with all the gay kinky sex you denied yourself in high school. You don’t have anything to prove.” 

Lu Han mouths at his neck for that, nips at his Adam’s apple, and Minseok's head crashes back against the overhead shelf this time. Hard enough for him to groan in pain, but he doesn't lessen his tight grip on Lu Han's biceps, doesn't halt the steady roll of his hips against Lu Han's palm. His eyes flutter closed and stay that way, and any further remarks he might have had seem to die on his tongue, get pushed away only to make room for these breathy, gorgeous sounds. 

"I'm young at heart," Lu Han breathes finally, letting the words blow hot over Minseok's throat. Minseok's involuntary shudder is entirely too beautiful. “And your cock is still the best I’ve ever seen. Want it all the time.”

It is, and he does. It’s thick and long and attached to Lu Han’s absolute favorite person, and Minseok had looked too fucking cute for Lu Han to deny himself the opportunity to look and touch and taste it once more. 

“Well, alright,” Minseok breathes back. His eyes flutter open, all dark and sharp and hot with arousal. Lu Han is enraptured, can't quite look away. His fingers push that ugly floral apron to near Minseok’s armpits, glide beneath the elastic waistband of his boxers, and Minseok’s chest is flushed, hitching with his labored breathing. “I wouldn’t want you to deny yourself.”

“You’re so kind,” Lu Han trills. “So generous.” And he’s curling forward, angle slightly awkward but movements sure, as he bends to mouth at him through the soft cotton. 

Cursing softly, Minseok crashes back again, hard, hard enough for Lu Han to wince and look upwards, but Minseok’s fingernails tangle in his hair to hold him at Minseok’s crotch. They scrape over his scalp, skate down to scratch at the nape of his neck, helpless encouragement, and his lips part with the softest, most shuddery, most _rewarding_ moan. 

And Lu Han twists, bends even further, all showy moans and wet licks and panted moans. Minseok curses in frustration as he grinds upwards, curses in gratitude, in relief, when Lu Han suckles him into his mouth. Impeded by fabric, his suction is still wet, the drag of his tongue still teasing and deliberate on every retreat. And it’s starting to tear at Minseok’s resolve, Lu Han can tell. Lu Han’s cock pulses heavily in sympathetic arousal. 

Groaning, Lu Han shifts to mouth at the jut of Minseok’s hipbone, peels Minseok’s boxers to midthigh. When he sucks him into his mouth again, there’s no barriers, and Minseok makes the most beautiful sound in response, this hitching little moan that breaks off into a drawnout whine. 

And it doesn’t matter that his back aches like this, that his speed is compromised by the angle because Minseok is pulsing heavy and hot and musky and perfect on his tongue. And he’s falling to pieces, crumbling with pleasure beneath his fingertips, before his eyes, just for him. 

And oh, Lu Han is going to heed Minseok’s quiet little commands and never, ever stop, take all that Minseok has to give and even more, make him fucking drown in hot, hot sensations. Gonna stay here until Minseok is begging him to stop, until his mouth feels raw and utterly used. 

But still, still, still, wanting to optimize the angle, Lu Han urges Minseok back, lips still suctioned sealed tight and hot and wet as he drapes Minseok across the counter. Moaning and trembling, Minseok smarts at the coolness against his bare skin, but he melts back nonetheless with a shudder when Lu Han swallows heavily once more, blinking past the tears coating his eyelashes as he does. Minseok writhes upwards into his mouth.

And _oh_ , it’s better like this. Lu Han can rest his elbows like this, glance up to see Minseok’s face contort with bliss, glide faster and harder and more to Minseok’s liking—like this. Can even grind against the counter and moan around Minseok’s cock in a way that has Minseok gasping, twisting, so caught up he doesn’t bother to hide his reactions, doesn’t bother making Lu Han _work for it_.

And Lu Han loses himself in the push and retreat, too, lips bruised, eyelashes heavy and clumped with tears, body overheated and trembling, mind glazed with pleasure and desire and heat. 

Abandoned, near Minseok’s head, their stove is the bowl of pancake batter, an open carton of eggs, a bottle of maple syrup, and a particularly heavy shudder, a blind grope for leverage has Minseok nearly knocking it over. 

And Lu Han pauses from gagging around his cock to lift it, sloppy and one-armed, pauses it cradle it, pauses to deliberate, pauses long enough for Minseok to groan in frustration. 

“Can I?” he asks, dropping kisses to Minseok’s thighs as he holds up the bottle. “I want to—?”

Minseok lolls his head to the side to see. His lips are achingly ruddy and plush, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes lidded and dark and pleasure-glazed. And fuck, he’s beautiful. 

Beautiful and fucking perfect, Lu Han decides as Minseok nods sluggishly. 

And Lu Han is humming in gratitude, popping open the cap, drizzling it across the concave dip of Minseok’s tense stomach, curling immediately to lick it off, groaning at the salty-sweetness of it. It’s thick and sticky and achingly sweet on his tongue.

Minseok will probably complain about this later when cleaning the kitchen, or on laundry Sundays when he pretreats the stain on this ugly apron, but right now he’s too busy shuddering with pleasure to take note of the fact.

And fuck, Lu Han loves it. 

Minseok, he obviously does, too. 

Minseok’s finger’s bite into Lu Han’s shoulders as he moans. His cock grinds hot and heavy against Lu Han’s collarbone. Lu Han allows him three deliberate thrusts before pulling back to pour even more. The muscles dance beneath Minseok’s skin, quiver along Lu Han’s tongue as Minseok moans softly. 

This isn’t the first time they’ve done this, but the last time, the first time, the only ever time, had been on their first anniversary many years ago, and it had been cherries then, cherry syrup and oh, yes Lu Han has missed it. 

He drips it onto Minseok’s hip this time, watching the way the golden liquid pools then diverges into delicate rivulets down Minseok’s goosebumped skin. Lu Han is clumsy, noisy in his attempt to gather it all. Minseok mindlessly, helplessly presses back into gooey mess of Lu Han’s hand, Lu Han’s mouth, and Lu Han smears more, sucks more.

And oh, it’s been years, but it’s much the same. And Lu Han remembers that he fucking _loves_ this. 

Lu Han presses a wet kiss to Minseok’s stomach. There’s more softness there than there once was, the skin less taut, muscle less firm, more squish as it drags against his cheek, a scar—the fault of Lu Han’s libido, a too rickety kitchen table—laced around his left hip. It’s changed since they last did this, as much of their lives have, but Minseok’s skin is still solely his to love. 

“How are you still so hot?” Lu Han grumbles, squeezing more syrup around Minseok’s navel, humming as he licks it off. And Minseok stomach contracts, expands with a laugh. _How are you still so perfect. How are you still everything I could ever want_. 

Lu Han’s chin drags over the strain of his erection. The head smearing hot and wet across Lu Han’s sternum. He repeats the question. Minseok repeats his laugh. 

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Of course, I do,” Lu Han insists. He slides further back, drags his lips on Minseok’s cock, lets them catch, part, enough to take Minseok inside once more. 

“Lu Han,” Minseok groans, and oh though it’s been years, that’s the same, the breathless need straining his voice, the way Lu Han’s body heats in response. 

“My favorite treat,” he says, and Minseok’s _Lu Han_ is so wonderfully breathy, though chiding, disbelieving. 

And oh, Minseok’s still indulging, still so wonderfully hard and hot on Lu Han’s fist, on Lu Han’s tongue. 

Hollowing his cheeks, Lu Han arches into the sting of Minseok’s small, shaky fingers twisting in his hair. 

And oh yes, that’s different, the scrape of Minseok’s wedding bang against his scalp as Minseok tugs and guides him, his skin trembling beneath Lu Han’s tongue as he arches toward the touch. The public declaration of love, the promise of forever. 

Sentimental, Lu Han takes as much of him as he can, throat fluttering around the hefty press of Minseok’s hot, heavy cock. He’s panting when he retreats, teasing as he swirls his tongue in a slow, soft caress. 

“ _Fuck_ , I hate you,” Minseok gasps, but there’s too much rawness and fondness in his voice for it to be real. “You’re so fucking—“

Lu Han swallows hard and heavy to make that sharp remark melt into a helpless moan, to make his face twist with pleasure. His lips part, eyebrows knit, thighs quiver as Lu Han drags his inner cheek against Minseok’s shaft, flutters his tongue at his head on the retreat. 

Minseok parts his lips to speak, to scold, to tease once more, and Lu Han curls his tongue along the underside, lips grazing the sensitive pulsing head. Minseok curses, moans instead.

Lu Han likes him like this, likes it when Minseok is too fucking turned on to have any thoughts or remarks about how messy this is, or how horny Lu Han is, or how ridiculous and reckless they are. Likes how Minseok’s cock feels spreading his mouth wide, making his jaw ache. Lu Han likes it. Loves it. Him. Them together like this.

Minseok, he’s gone—for him.

“Fuck—fuck, fuck—come here,” Minseok says, tugging him up by the hair before Lu Han really has the chance to go of his own volition, kissing him deep before Lu Han can even think of saying or doing anything else. 

He licks into his mouth, groans as he does, _tastes_ himself, and Lu Han’s body feels tight and hot and weak and helpless with the desire for more.

Minseok is urgent, fierce, his teeth scraping over Lu Han’s tongue, his lip, down at his throat as his cock presses into Lu Han’s stomach. And Lu Han is arching into the caress, the friction, seeking out the searing possession of his touch, the desperation of it, too, as he moans into Minseok’s throat. 

“Minseokkie,” he moans, maybe prays, maybe curses, maybe pleads. 

And Minseok is back at his mouth, sharp and hot and demanding. 

“Get on the floor,” he pants against his lips. His teeth are sharp against Lu Han’s kiss-swollen, kiss-sensitive lips. “Want to—you, too.”

Tangled, twisting, they collapse on the cold linoleum, none too graceful, lips fused, limbs twining, hands wandering, moans puffing into each other’s mouths. 

They’re side to side, and Minseok’s got one hand in Lu Han’s hair, the other stroking hard at his own cock as they kiss, messy and hot. 

And _fuck_ , that almost turns him on more than Minseok touching him, Minseok losing himself in the pleasure and touching himself instead, so achingly hard he can’t fucking resist the urge. 

Fuck, he needs to—

“I need to blow you again,” he announces, and Minseok laughs, presses even tighter. His cock is hot and slick and heavy as it drags over Lu Han’s bare hip, and Lu Han’s skin prickles beneath the pressure. “Want you” he says unnecessarily. Then, wrapping a loose fist around Minseok’s cock, sparing it a loose, languid stroke. “Let me have you.”

“Let me, too.”

And they’re tangling, twisting, collapsing again, balancing their weight on their elbows as they tug their bottom halves closer. 

Minseok peels off Lu Han’s boxers, pushes up his tshirt. 

And Minseok’s eyelashes are fluttering along Lu Han’s thighs, his small, sharp teeth teasing over the base of his cock, and Lu Han is panting as he mouths his way up Minseok’s pulsing erection. 

Minseok’s lips drag over his shaft, and oh oh _oh_ Lu Han’s groaning at the sweet, sweet ache of contact after so, so long. 

And oh, Lu Han likes him even more like this. Likes it. Likes them, more like this. Likes feeling Minseok’s every response drag hot and wet and breathy against his own cock, likes rewarding every perfect slick, slick, slick glide with one of his own. 

Minseok gags briefly as he swallows hot, heavy, and Lu Han is dragging him forward in gratitude, dragging red lines down his thighs to ground himself as he twists to dip further, mouth lower. His tongue grazes over Minseok’s rim, and Minseok chokes out a _yes_. 

Lu Han remembers the first time he did this, too. How Minseok had turned into putty in is arms, melted into an utterly beautiful mess of breathy whimpers and quaking limps on his shitty Iron Man sheets, moaning so loud that Lu Han worried about whether it was too much. It wasn’t, but it was. But fuck, just don’t fucking stop. 

Lu Han doesn’t now either. He continues, eases him open with kitten licks that have Minseok whimpering against his shaft, presses inside with a fluid glide that has Minseok shuddering monumentally, hooks his thumb to stretch him further as Minseok pants his name, struggles to continue in his own ministrations.

His entire body responds, arms quaking, breath hitching, rim fluttering against his tongue, and it’s so fucking hot, so fucking rewarding. 

And yes, it’s much the same now as it was then, Minseok stopping to pant out a shuddery moan, his tremors heavy enough for him to brace himself on Lu Han’s thigh as he tries to rock back against Lu Han’s mouth. Heedless in his pursuit of pleasure, pursuit of Lu Han. 

Lu Han hums against him, and Minseok makes this wet, shuddery sound, moaning around the cock in his mouth, fingernails stinging and angry and hot and desperate at Lu Han’s thighs. 

“It's so,” he moans. “Don’t—“ And he’s pulling Lu Han’s hair. “Just—cock please just—”

Lu Han heeds his command, sucks on his thigh as he wraps his fingers around his cock. And no longer distracted, no longer overcome, Minseok is almost cruel in his movements then. Fast, hard, wet, deep, deep, deep, just exactly what Lu Han needs, as he swallows Lu Han down, down, down. 

Lu Han feels useless and clumsy and weak with pleasure. And it fast, hard, wet, deep, deep, deep, too, and it steals over him sharp and violent and so fucking hot. 

Minseok hums as he sucks him through it, and fuck, Lu Han loves him. Loves his mouth, the plush press of his lips, the way his cock pulses in Lu Han’s hold as he does—like he loves it, too. Loves the featherlight kiss he places to Lu Han’s hip as he finally disengages. Loves everything about this. 

Lu Han is flushed with pleasure, awash with love, but he remembers himself enough to tongue sloppily at Minseok cock, swallow him again. Filled to the brim with contentment, he redoubles his efforts, orgasm-drunk, sluggish and sloppy in the afterglow. 

Lu Han urges him on his back. 

“Hmm, tastes so sweet,” he whispers against his skin, and Minseok laughs, breathy and deliciously unsteady, his hands tangling, then guiding, urging. Lu Han lets himself be guided, suckles soft and sweet on Minseok’s cock to make him shudder and moan. 

“It tastes like cock,” he says, and Lu Han hums as he dips again, lower, nuzzling at his thigh, groaning lowly at the way it makes Minseok’s cock twitch against his cheekbone. 

“And it tastes _amazing_ ,” Lu Han purrs. He teases his tongue along the base of Minseok’s cock, mouthing at the network of straining veins beneath the skin. 

Minseok opens his mouth like he’s gonna try to say something more, and Lu Han shifts, swallows, sucks hard and mean and deliberate before he has a chance. 

He’s already so, so close, and his breath crests into the prettiest moan four bobs in. Breaks again into a wrecked whimper of Lu Han’s name after half a dozen, as he moans and claws and bites his way through orgasm. 

In the throes of it, he clings, fingernails sharp and demanding on Lu Han’s shoulders as he collapses back with the force of it. Lu Han goes willing. Crawling up towards him, he lets himself be held and loved. 

Sweaty and hot, they adhere wherever skin meets skin. 

Minseok’s sticky and ruined with pleasure, but he doesn’t make to pull away even as he recovers, stays pressed tight and perfect like that, his chest rising and falling sharply as his breathing evens. 

And Lu Han loves him so much, it hurts, has to kiss him, has to hold him, has to tell him over and over and over again, slurring confessions into the crease of his eyebrows, the flutter of his eyelashes, the sharp cut of his cheekbone. 

Minseok’s laugh is weak with orgasm, soft with fondness as he turns his cheek to give Lu Han more skin to kiss, love, worship.


End file.
